SCANDAL AND ITS VICTIMS.
When Mr. Gibson returned to Hollingford, he found an accumulation of
business waiting for him, and he was much inclined to complain of the
consequences of the two days' comparative holiday, which had resulted
in over-work for the week to come. He had hardly time to speak to
his family, he had so immediately to rush off to pressing cases of
illness. But Molly managed to arrest him in the hall, standing there
with his great coat held out ready for him to put on, but whispering
as she did so--
"Papa! Mr. Osborne Hamley was here to see you yesterday. He looks
very ill, and he's evidently frightened about himself."
Mr. Gibson faced about, and looked at her for a moment; but all he
said was--
"I'll go and see him; don't tell your mother where I'm gone: you've
not mentioned this to her, I hope?"
"No," said Molly, for she had only told Mrs. Gibson of Osborne's
call, not of the occasion for it.
"Don't say anything about it; there's no need. Now I think of it, I
can't possibly go to-day,--but I will go."
Something in her father's manner disheartened Molly, who had
persuaded herself that Osborne's evident illness was partly
"nervous," by which she meant imaginary. She had dwelt upon his looks
of enjoyment at Miss Phoebe's perplexity, and thought that no one
really believing himself to be in danger could have given the merry
glances which he had done; but after seeing the seriousness of her
father's face, she recurred to the shock she had experienced on first
seeing Osborne's changed appearance. All this time Mrs. Gibson was
busy reading a letter from Cynthia which Mr. Gibson had brought from
London; for every opportunity of private conveyance was seized upon
when postage was so high; and Cynthia had forgotten so many things in
her hurried packing, that she now sent a list of the clothes which
she required. Molly almost wondered that it had not come to her;
but she did not understand the sort of reserve that was springing
up in Cynthia's mind towards her. Cynthia herself struggled with
the feeling, and tried to fight against it by calling herself
"ungrateful;" but the truth was, she believed that she no longer held
her former high place in Molly's estimation and she could not help
turning away from one who knew things to her discredit. She was fully
aware of Molly's prompt decision and willing action, where action
was especially disagreeable, on her behalf; she knew that Molly
would never bring up the past errors and difficulties; but still the
consciousness that the good, straightforward girl had learnt that
Cynthia had been guilty of so much underhand work cooled her regard,
and restrained her willingness of intercourse. Reproach herself with
ingratitude as she would, she could not help feeling glad to be
away from Molly; it was awkward to speak to her as if nothing had
happened; it was awkward to write to her about forgotten ribbons
and laces, when their last conversation had been on such different
subjects, and had called out such vehement expressions of feeling.
So Mrs. Gibson held the list in her hand, and read out the small
fragments of news that were intermixed with notices of Cynthia's
requirements.
"Helen cannot be so very ill," said Molly at length, "or Cynthia
would not want her pink muslin and daisy wreath."
"I don't see that that follows, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Gibson rather
sharply. "Helen would never be so selfish as to tie Cynthia to her
side, however ill she was. Indeed, I should not have felt that it
was my duty to let Cynthia go to London at all, if I had thought
she was to be perpetually exposed to the depressing atmosphere of
a sick-room. Besides, it must be so good for Helen to have Cynthia
coming in with bright pleasant accounts of the parties she has been
to--even if Cynthia disliked gaiety I should desire her to sacrifice
herself and go out as much as she could, for Helen's sake. My idea
of nursing is that one should not be always thinking of one's own
feelings and wishes, but doing those things which will most serve to
beguile the weary hours of an invalid. But then so few people have
had to consider the subject so deeply as I have done!"
Mrs. Gibson here thought fit to sigh before going on with Cynthia's
letter. As far as Molly could make any sense out of this rather
incoherent epistle, very incoherently read aloud to her, Cynthia was
really pleased, and glad to be of use and comfort to Helen, but at
the same time very ready to be easily persuaded into the perpetual
small gaieties which abounded in her uncle's house in London, even at
this dead season of the year. Mrs. Gibson came upon Mr. Henderson's
name once, and then went on with a running "um-um-um" to herself,
which sounded very mysterious, but which might as well have been
omitted, as all that Cynthia really said about him was, "Mr.
Henderson's mother has advised my aunt to consult a certain Dr.
Donaldson, who is said to be very clever in such cases as Helen's,
but my uncle is not sufficiently sure of the professional etiquette,
&c." Then there came a very affectionate, carefully worded message to
Molly,--implying a good deal more than was said of loving gratitude
for the trouble she had taken on Cynthia's behalf. And that was all;
and Molly went away a little depressed; she knew not why.
The operation on Lady Cumnor had been successfully performed, and in
a few days they hoped to bring her down to the Towers to recruit her
strength in the fresh country air. The case was one which interested
Mr. Gibson extremely, and in which his opinion had been proved to
be right, in opposition to that of one or two great names in London.
The consequence was that he was frequently consulted and referred to
during the progress of her recovery; and, as he had much to do in the
immediate circle of his Hollingford practice, as well as to write
thoughtful letters to his medical brethren in London, he found it
difficult to spare the three or four hours necessary to go over to
Hamley to see Osborne. He wrote to him, however, begging him to reply
immediately and detail his symptoms; and from the answer he received
he did not imagine that the case was immediately pressing. Osborne,
too, deprecated his coming over to Hamley for the express purpose
of seeing him. So the visit was deferred to that "more convenient
season" which is so often too late.
All these days the buzzing gossip about Molly's meetings with Mr.
Preston, her clandestine correspondence, the secret interviews in
lonely places, had been gathering strength, and assuming the positive
form of scandal. The simple innocent girl, who walked through the
quiet streets without a thought of being the object of mysterious
implications, became for a time the unconscious black sheep of the
town. Servants heard part of what was said in their mistresses'
drawing-rooms, and exaggerated the sayings amongst themselves with
the coarse strengthening of expression common with uneducated people.
Mr. Preston himself became aware that her name was being coupled with
his, though hardly to the extent to which the love of excitement and
gossip had carried people's speeches; he chuckled over the mistake,
but took no pains to correct it. "It serves her right," said he to
himself, "for meddling with other folk's business," and he felt
himself avenged for the discomfiture which her menace of appealing to
Lady Harriet had caused him, and the mortification he had experienced
in learning from her plain-speaking lips, how he had been talked
over by Cynthia and herself, with personal dislike on the one side,
and evident contempt on the other. Besides, if any denial of Mr.
Preston's stirred up an examination as to the real truth, more might
come out of his baffled endeavours to compel Cynthia to keep to her
engagement to him than he cared to have known. He was angry with
himself for still loving Cynthia; loving her in his own fashion, be
it understood. He told himself that many a woman of more position and
wealth would be glad enough to have him; some of them pretty women
too. And he asked himself why he was such a confounded fool as to go
on hankering after a penniless girl, who was as fickle as the wind?
The answer was silly enough, logically; but forcible in fact. Cynthia
was Cynthia, and not Venus herself could have been her substitute.
In this one thing Mr. Preston was more really true than many worthy
men; who, seeking to be married, turn with careless facility from the
unattainable to the attainable, and keep their feelings and fancy
tolerably loose till they find a woman who consents to be their wife.
But no one would ever be to Mr. Preston what Cynthia had been, and
was; and yet he could have stabbed her in certain of his moods. So,
Molly, who had come between him and the object of his desire, was not
likely to find favour in his sight, or to obtain friendly actions
from him.
There came a time--not very distant from the evening at Mrs.
Dawes'--when Molly felt that people looked askance at her. Mrs.
Goodenough openly pulled her grand-daughter away, when the young girl
stopped to speak to Molly in the street, and an engagement which
the two had made for a long walk together was cut very short by a
very trumpery excuse. Mrs. Goodenough explained her conduct in the
following manner to some of her friends:--
"You see, I don't think the worse of a girl for meeting her
sweetheart here and there and everywhere, till she gets talked about;
but then when she does--and Molly Gibson's name is in everybody's
mouth--I think it's only fair to Bessy, who has trusted me with
Annabella--not to let her daughter be seen with a lass who has
managed her matters so badly as to set folk talking about her. My
maxim is this,--and it's a very good working one, you may depend
on't--women should mind what they're about, and never be talked of;
and if a woman's talked of, the less her friends have to do with her
till the talk has died away, the better. So Annabella is not to have
anything to do with Molly Gibson, this visit at any rate."
For a good while the Miss Brownings were kept in ignorance of the
evil tongues that whispered hard words about Molly. Miss Browning
was known to "have a temper," and by instinct every one who came in
contact with her shrank from irritating that temper by uttering the
slightest syllable against the smallest of those creatures over whom
she spread the ¾gis of her love. She would and did reproach them
herself; she used to boast that she never spared them: but no one
else might touch them with the slightest slur of a passing word. But
Miss Phoebe inspired no such terror; the great reason why she did
not hear of the gossip against Molly as early as any one, was that,
although she was not the rose, she lived near the rose. Besides, she
was of so tender a nature that even thick-skinned Mrs. Goodenough was
unwilling to say what would give Miss Phoebe pain; and it was the
new-comer Mrs. Dawes, who in all ignorance alluded to the town's
talk, as to something of which Miss Phoebe must be aware. Then Miss
Phoebe poured down her questions, although she protested, even with
tears, her total disbelief in all the answers she received. It was
a small act of heroism on her part to keep all that she then learnt
a secret from her sister Dorothy, as she did for four or five days;
till Miss Browning attacked her one evening with the following
speech:--
"Phoebe! either you've some reason for puffing yourself out with
sighs, or you've not. If you have a reason, it's your duty to tell it
me directly; and if you haven't a reason, you must break yourself of
a bad habit that is growing upon you."
"Oh, sister! do you think it is really my duty to tell you? it would
be such a comfort; but then I thought I ought not; it will distress
you so."
"Nonsense. I am so well prepared for misfortune by the frequent
contemplation of its possibility that I believe I can receive any ill
news with apparent equanimity and real resignation. Besides, when you
said yesterday at breakfast-time that you meant to give up the day
to making your drawers tidy, I was aware that some misfortune was
impending, though of course I could not judge of its magnitude. Is
the Highchester Bank broken?"
"Oh no, sister!" said Miss Phoebe, moving to a seat close to her
sister's on the sofa. "Have you really been thinking that! I wish I
had told you what I heard at the very first, if you've been fancying
that!"
"Take warning, Phoebe, and learn to have no concealments from me. I
did think we must be ruined, from your ways of going on: eating no
meat at dinner, and sighing continually. And now what is it?"
"I hardly know how to tell you, Dorothy. I really don't."
Miss Phoebe began to cry; Miss Browning took hold of her arm, and
gave her a little sharp shake.
"Cry as much as you like when you've told me; but don't cry now,
child, when you're keeping me on the tenter-hooks."
"Molly Gibson has lost her character, sister. That's it."
"Molly Gibson has done no such thing!" said Miss Browning
indignantly. "How dare you repeat such stories about poor Mary's
child? Never let me hear you say such things again."
"I can't help it. Mrs. Dawes told me; and she says it's all over the
town. I told her I did not believe a word of it. And I kept it from
you; and I think I should have been really ill if I'd kept it to
myself any longer. Oh, sister! what are you going to do?"
For Miss Browning had risen without speaking a word, and was leaving
the room in a stately and determined fashion.
"I'm going to put on my bonnet and things, and then I shall call upon
Mrs. Dawes, and confront her with her lies."
"Oh, don't call them lies, sister; it's such a strong, ugly word.
Please call them tallydiddles, for I don't believe she meant any
harm. Besides--besides--if they should turn out to be truth? Really,
sister, that's the weight on my mind; so many things sounded as if
they might be true."
"What things?" said Miss Browning, still standing with judicial
erectness of position in the middle of the floor.
"Why--one story was that Molly had given him a letter."
"Who's him? How am I to understand a story told in that silly way?"
Miss Browning sat down on the nearest chair, and made up her mind to
be patient if she could.
"Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; because I missed her
from my side when I wanted to ask her if she thought blue would look
green by candlelight, as the young man said it would, and she had run
across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop,
just as she said she was."
Miss Browning's distress was overcoming her anger; so she only said,
"Phoebe, I think you'll drive me mad. Do tell me what you heard
from Mrs. Dawes in a sensible and coherent manner, for once in your
life."
"I'm sure I'm trying with all my might to tell you everything just as
it happened."
"What did you hear from Mrs. Dawes?"
"Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were keeping company just as if she
was a maid-servant and he was a gardener: meeting at all sorts of
improper times and places, and fainting away in his arms, and out at
night together, and writing to each other, and slipping their letters
into each other's hands; and that was what I was talking about,
sister, for I next door to saw that done once. I saw her with my own
eyes run across the street to Grinstead's, where he was, for we had
just left him there; with a letter in her hand, too, which was not
there when she came back all fluttered and blushing. But I never
thought anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking
about it, and crying shame, and saying they ought to be married."
Miss Phoebe sank into sobbing again; but was suddenly roused by a
good box on her ear. Miss Browning was standing over her almost
trembling with passion.
"Phoebe, if ever I hear you say such things again, I'll turn you
out of the house that minute."
"I only said what Mrs. Dawes said, and you asked me what it was,"
replied Miss Phoebe, humbly and meekly. "Dorothy, you should not
have done that."
"Never mind whether I should or I shouldn't. That's not the matter
in hand. What I've got to decide is, how to put a stop to all these
lies."
"But, Dorothy, they are not all lies--if you will call them so; I'm
afraid some things are true; though I stuck to their being false when
Mrs. Dawes told me of them."
"If I go to Mrs. Dawes, and she repeats them to me, I shall slap her
face or box her ears I'm afraid, for I couldn't stand tales being
told of poor Mary's daughter, as if they were just a stirring piece
of news like James Horrocks' pig with two heads," said Miss Browning,
meditating aloud. "That would do harm instead of good. Phoebe, I'm
really sorry I boxed your ears, only I should do it again if you said
the same things." Phoebe sate down by her sister, and took hold of
one of her withered hands, and began caressing it, which was her way
of accepting her sister's expression of regret. "If I speak to Molly,
the child will deny it, if she's half as good-for-nothing as they
say; and if she's not, she'll only worry herself to death. No, that
won't do. Mrs. Goodenough--but she's a donkey; and if I convinced
her, she could never convince any one else. No; Mrs. Dawes, who told
you, shall tell me, and I'll tie my hands together inside my muff,
and bind myself over to keep the peace. And when I've heard what is
to be heard, I'll put the matter into Mr. Gibson's hands. That's what
I'll do. So it's no use your saying anything against it, Phoebe,
for I shan't attend to you."
Miss Browning went to Mrs. Dawes' and began civilly enough to make
inquiries concerning the reports current in Hollingford about Molly
and Mr. Preston; and Mrs. Dawes fell into the snare, and told all the
real and fictitious circumstances of the story in circulation, quite
unaware of the storm that was gathering and ready to fall upon her
as soon as she stopped speaking. But she had not the long habit of
reverence for Miss Browning which would have kept so many Hollingford
ladies from justifying themselves if she found fault. Mrs. Dawes
stood up for herself and her own veracity, bringing out fresh
scandal, which she said she did not believe, but that many did; and
adducing so much evidence as to the truth of what she had said and
did believe, that Miss Browning was almost quelled, and sate silent
and miserable at the end of Mrs. Dawes' justification of herself.
"Well!" she said at length, rising up from her chair as she spoke,
"I'm very sorry I've lived till this day; it's a blow to me just as
if I had heard of such goings-on in my own flesh and blood. I suppose
I ought to apologize to you, Mrs. Dawes, for what I said; but I've
no heart to do it to-day. I ought not to have spoken as I did; but
that's nothing to this affair, you see."
"I hope you do me the justice to perceive that I only repeated what
I had heard on good authority, Miss Browning," said Mrs. Dawes in
reply.
"My dear, don't repeat evil on any authority unless you can do some
good by speaking about it," said Miss Browning, laying her hand on
Mrs. Dawes' shoulder. "I'm not a good woman, but I know what is good,
and that advice is. And now I think I can tell you that I beg your
pardon for flying out upon you so; but God knows what pain you were
putting me to. You'll forgive me, won't you, my dear?" Mrs. Dawes
felt the hand trembling on her shoulder, and saw the real distress of
Miss Browning's mind, so it was not difficult for her to grant the
requested forgiveness. Then Miss Browning went home, and said but a
few words to Phoebe, who indeed saw well enough that her sister had
heard the reports confirmed, and needed no further explanation of
the cause of scarcely-tasted dinner, and short replies, and saddened
looks. Presently Miss Browning sate down and wrote a short note. Then
she rang the bell, and told the little maiden who answered it to
take it to Mr. Gibson, and if he was out to see that it was given
to him as soon as ever he came home. And then she went and put on
her Sunday cap; and Miss Phoebe knew that her sister had written
to ask Mr. Gibson to come and be told of the rumours affecting his
daughter. Miss Browning was sadly disturbed at the information she
had received, and the task that lay before her; she was miserably
uncomfortable to herself and irritable to Miss Phoebe, and the
netting-cotton she was using kept continually snapping and breaking
from the jerks of her nervous hands. When the knock at the door was
heard,--the well-known doctor's knock,--Miss Browning took off her
spectacles, and dropped them on the carpet, breaking them as she
did so; and then she bade Miss Phoebe leave the room, as if her
presence had cast the evil-eye, and caused the misfortune. She wanted
to look natural, and was distressed at forgetting whether she usually
received him sitting or standing.
"Well!" said he, coming in cheerfully, and rubbing his cold hands as
he went straight to the fire, "and what is the matter with us? It's
Phoebe, I suppose? I hope none of those old spasms? But, after all,
a dose or two will set that to rights."
"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I wish it was Phoebe, or me either!" said Miss
Browning, trembling more and more.
He sate down by her patiently, when he saw her agitation, and took
her hand in a kind, friendly manner.
"Don't hurry yourself,--take your time. I daresay it's not so bad as
you fancy; but we'll see about it. There's a great deal of help in
the world, much as we abuse it."
"Mr. Gibson," said she, "it's your Molly I'm so grieved about. It's
out now, and God help us both, and the poor child too, for I'm sure
she's been led astray, and not gone wrong by her own free will!"
"Molly!" said he, fighting against her words. "What's my little Molly
been doing or saying?"
"Oh! Mr. Gibson, I don't know how to tell you. I never would have
named it, if I had not been convinced, sorely, sorely against my
will."
"At any rate, you can let me hear what you've heard," said he,
putting his elbow on the table, and screening his eyes with his hand.
"Not that I'm a bit afraid of anything you can hear about my girl,"
continued he. "Only in this little nest of gossip, it's as well to
know what people are talking about."
"They say--oh! how shall I tell you?"
"Go on, can't you?" said he, removing his hand from his blazing eyes.
"I'm not going to believe it, so don't be afraid!"
"But I fear you must believe it. I would not if I could help it.
She's been carrying on a clandestine correspondence with Mr.
Preston!--"
"Mr. Preston!" exclaimed he.
"And meeting him at all sorts of unseemly places and hours, out of
doors,--in the dark,--fainting away in his--his arms, if I must speak
out. All the town is talking of it." Mr. Gibson's hand was over his
eyes again, and he made no sign; so Miss Browning went on, adding
touch to touch. "Mr. Sheepshanks saw them together. They have
exchanged notes in Grinstead's shop; she ran after him there."
"Be quiet, can't you?" said Mr. Gibson, taking his hand away, and
showing his grim set face. "I've heard enough. Don't go on. I said
I shouldn't believe it, and I don't. I suppose I must thank you for
telling me; but I can't yet."
"I don't want your thanks," said Miss Browning, almost crying. "I
thought you ought to know; for though you're married again, I can't
forget you were dear Mary's husband once upon a time; and Molly's her
child."
"I'd rather not speak any more about it just at present," said he,
not at all replying to Miss Browning's last speech. "I may not
control myself as I ought. I only wish I could meet Preston, and
horsewhip him within an inch of his life. I wish I'd the doctoring
of these slanderous gossips. I'd make their tongues lie still for a
while. My little girl! What harm has she done them all, that they
should go and foul her fair name?"
"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, I'm afraid it's all true. I would not have sent
for you if I hadn't examined into it. Do ascertain the truth before
you do anything violent, such as horsewhipping or poisoning."
With all the _inconsquence_ of a man in a passion, Mr. Gibson
laughed out, "What have I said about horsewhipping or poisoning?
Do you think I'd have Molly's name dragged about the streets in
connection with any act of violence on my part? Let the report die
away as it arose. Time will prove its falsehood."
"But I don't think it will, and that's the pity of it," said Miss
Browning. "You must do something, but I don't know what."
"I shall go home and ask Molly herself what's the meaning of it all;
that's all I shall do. It's too ridiculous--knowing Molly as I do,
it's perfectly ridiculous." He got up and walked about the room
with hasty steps, laughing short unnatural laughs from time to time.
"Really what will they say next? 'Satan finds some mischief still for
idle tongues to do.'"
"Don't talk of Satan, please, in this house. No one knows what may
happen, if he's lightly spoken about," pleaded Miss Browning.
He went on, without noticing her, talking to himself,--"I've a great
mind to leave the place;--and what food for scandal that piece
of folly would give rise to!" Then he was silent for a time; his
hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, as he continued his
quarter-deck march. Suddenly he stopped close to Miss Browning's
chair: "I'm thoroughly ungrateful to you, for as true a mark of
friendship as you've ever shown to me. True or false, it was right
I should know the wretched scandal that was being circulated; and it
couldn't have been pleasant for you to tell it me. Thank you from the
bottom of my heart."
"Indeed, Mr. Gibson, if it was false I would never have named it, but
let it die away."
"It's not true, though!" said he, doggedly, letting drop the hand he
had taken in his effusion of gratitude.
She shook her head. "I shall always love Molly for her mother's
sake," she said. And it was a great concession from the correct Miss
Browning. But her father did not understand it as such.
"You ought to love her for her own. She has done nothing to disgrace
herself. I shall go straight home, and probe into the truth."
"As if the poor girl who has been led away into deceit already would
scruple much at going on in falsehood," was Miss Browning's remark on
this last speech of Mr. Gibson's; but she had discretion enough not
to make it until he was well out of hearing.